I Wished For This Night
by the-spellbound-spirit
Summary: Antonin Hardbroom had always craved to start a family and he thought his dream was finally coming true. But when his wife dies during labour and he's left to raise their daughter on his own how will he cope? OC-centric, references to alcohol abuse, death and self harm.


_**A/N: This story is based on OCs from the A Time to Try fan fiction. It's a bit different but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Disclaimer: I am not Jill Murphy, I own the OCs but any characters mentioned that are in The Worst Witch series are not mine.**_

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"I'm pregnant."

"Really?"

She nodded, speechless as she realised what she was saying.

Antonin Hardbroom had always craved to start a family with his beautiful wife and now his dream was finally coming true. He could settle down with the woman of his dreams and have gorgeous sons and daughters with her.

"How many weeks do you think you are?" He whispered, taking her in his arms and kissing her thick, raven black hair.

Sylvia smiled into his chest as she pressed her hands against him. She looked up at him, her dark eyes twinkling like the night sky as she whispered, "Eight, maybe nine."

"Honey that's wonderful." He scooped her up in his arms and placed a kiss to her still-grinning lips. He relinquished his hold on her and placed her carefully back on the floor, "It's all coming together for us isn't it?"

Sylvia nodded, stroking the non-existent bump that was going to grow into their little baby. She brushed a long strand of dark hair out of her face and then pressed a soft kiss to Antonin's lips, "Boy or girl?" She asked, hooking her arms around his neck.

Antonin gazed into the dark eyes looking up at him and smiled. To him, regardless of whether it was a boy or a girl, all that mattered was that it was a happy and healthy little baby. He kissed Sylvia's forehead, "A little girl would be nice. She'd be just as beautiful as you. If we had a boy he would be cursed with my looks. And my hairline."

Sylvia slapped his shoulder. Her husband was a normal looking man with a slight receding hairline and sparkling green eyes. He may not have been the most handsome man in the world but he was amazing and would make a wonderful father to their little baby boy or girl.

X

"Tony?" Came a voice in the darkness, "Tony, wake up. Something's wrong."

It was four in the morning in January. Antonin had only managed to drift off to sleep after being kicked and kicked by their seven month old unborn baby. It was very active usually but Sylvia was panicking.

"What's wrong Honey?" He whispered, pressing his hand gently to the swollen stomach beside him, "Is the baby okay?"

Sylvia sniffed loudly as her fingers stroked the back of Antonin's strong hands, "I don't know. It hasn't moved. Usually the baby wakes up at this time to tell me to go to the toilet."

"Well it was very active earlier." Antonin said dismissively, "Maybe it's just tired itself out."

Syvlia shook her head, "No. It's something else. It hurts. I think I need to see a doctor." She said as she clambered laboriously out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown, "Come on."

Antonin groaned miserably as he steeled himself to get out of bed. He got dressed and follow his wife to the car parked outside the house.

"You know if this kid is anything like you we're getting a divorce. I can't handle two of you under the same roof," Antonin chuckled to himself as he climbed into the car, placing a kind hand on his wife's stomach, "Everything will be okay, Honey."

Sylvia nodded, though there was a knowing look behind her dark eyes as they pulled away and drove off into the night.

X

They were surrounded by whirring machines and different people dressed in white coats. Their personal doctor, a lady called Dr Claire Swan, was measuring Sylvia's vital signs, and the baby's, and was writing things down on her clipboard with an unreadable expression on her face. She was a tall lady with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Antonin sat down beside his wife who was laying in bed, now groaning in pain. He held her hand and she gripped it tightly, her cheeks flushing as she fought back a scream of agony as another shooting pain spread up her side.

"Right," Dr Swan said finally, placing down her clipboard, "There's no easy way of putting this. The baby is wanting to make an early appearance so it's going to be premature."

Sylvia furrowed her brow, "What does that mean? Is the baby going to be okay?"

Dr Swan said nothing as she measured Sylvia's dilation, something Antonin had to look away from. She looked back up at the couple and said, "You're four centimetres already. Chances are you'll give birth quite soon and we can incubate the baby until it's ready to be held."

Antonin fired up, "Hang on. She's giving birth to this baby and she can't hold it?"

The doctor shook her head as Sylvia let out another grown of pain, "Well the baby will be at risk. Its immune system won't have developed properly. She will be able to hold it eventually but not for the first day or so. You can probably take the baby home by the time it's two days old."

Antonin looked at his wife who was smiling through the pain she was obviously in. She mouthed the words, "I'm fine," to her husband and squeezed his hand slightly as she was given a cloth mask coated in ether to breathe in to help with the shocks that were going up and down her body.

X

After five long hours of painful labour, Sylvia heard the words she had been desperate to hear, "I can see its head. It has hair, dark hair!" A shining forehead popped up from between her legs, "That explains the heartburn."

Sylvia mouthed the words, "Shut up!" at Antonin as she kept pushing.

Antonin was watching as his child was being born. Dr Swan helped the baby come out, helping move the shoulders slightly as Sylvia called that she was struggling. Finally the legs and the tiny feet came into the world and Dr Swan carried the doll-like baby to the clean up station in the corner. It was small, its skin red and raw-looking.

"Wait, what's happening?" Sylvia asked deliriously, watching the doctor carry it away, "Where's my baby?"

Her dark hair was sticking to her as Antonin brushed it away from her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, "Everything's fine, darling. The baby is just a bit small, that's all."

Sylvia bit her lip, "But it didn't cry."

She was right. The baby didn't cry as it came into the world. He patted his wife's hand and walked to see the doctor as she cleaned up the baby, but to his horror he turned to look at his wife and saw that the sheets around her were stained scarlet with blood.

"Doctor," he said very quietly, "What's wrong?"

Dr Swan placed the still uncrying baby in a small crib by the cleansing station and turned to look at Sylvia, "She's haemorrhaging! Dr Carter!"

Dr Swan pressed the red button beside the counter top which rang a buzzer in the room. In a heartbeat a taller doctor rushed into the room and examined Sylvia as the doctor began to gently massage the baby's back. It was still not crying, not breathing.

As the taller doctor called for help, Sylvia's eyes flashed open and she called for her husband. Antonin rushed to her, taking her hand. She was perfectly awake, unlike how she had been some moments before.

The blood was still pouring from her as she kissed her husband with her paling lips. Her eyes were misty with tears.

"You're going to be okay, Honey. Don't worry. Just stay calm and let the doctor help you."

Sylvia raised a thin hand and stroked Antonin's cheek. She shook her head, "I know you'll look after our baby. I love you, Darling."

She pressed another kiss to his lips and with a sigh she closed her eyes just as the baby let out a soft cry.

"Don't be silly, Syl," Antonin said smiling, "Come on, Honey. Honey?" He touched his wife's shoulder. She wilted against the soft pillow. She was gone.

The doctor got up from the end of the bed and frowned, "I'm sorry, Mr Hardbroom. Really I am. I did everything I could."

Antonin's eyes prickled with tears as he looked at Sylvia, still motionless, "You have to do something else!" He grabbed the doctor by the shoulders, looking at her sharp face. He could see the fear in her blue eyes as she flinched.

"Mr Hardbroom, calm down. There's nothing else I could have done to save your wife. The damage was too vast."

The excuses weren't enough for Antonin as he stared at the bloodstained sheets around his wife. She was lying there broken and torn apart all for this doll-like creature.

X

"It's a girl," said Dr Swan as she came into the waiting area.

Antonin didn't look up. He stared at the wall opposite him. Only twenty four hours before he had been driving his wife to the seaside for ice cream and now she was dead; gone kicking and screaming. She had known she was dying from the moment she had roused from the anaesthetic. She had kissed his lips as though it would be the last time she would ever feel them. He could still feel her soft kiss tingling his lips as he touched them.

"Mr Hardbroom?" She called from the doorway of the waiting room, "Do you want to see your daughter?"

He pushed himself to his feet and straightened his trousers, following Dr Swan into the room. It was filled with glass cots full of wires and pipes. The babies within some of the cots were even smaller than his daughter with brilliantly scarlet flesh with pipes coming out of their mouths and wires attached to their chests.

Finally they reached "Baby Hardbroom" and Dr Swan stood by the cot, looking at the little baby. She had dark hair and tiny hands like a china doll. Her eyes were still tight shut.

"Does she have a name?" Asked Dr Swan.

Antonin breathed heavily and turned to the doctor, "Sylvia wanted to call her Constance after her mother."

"Constance Hardbroom. It has a nice ring to it. Well Constance Hardbroom, welcome to the world!" She said over-enthusiastically. She smiled gently at Antonin and took his arm, "Listen I am truly sorry about Sylvia. If it makes you feel any better I'm sure she won't have been conscious of any pain."

That fact didn't make Antonin feel any better at all and he grimaced, forcing back the rage that was thundering inside of him, "Why did my wife have to die?"

Dr Swan furrowed her brow, "It must have been an abdominal ectopic pregnancy. The baby must have implanted somewhere other than the womb which is why there was so much blood loss. Again I am so very sorry. Had I have known I would have asked for an emergency caesarean section." She rubbed his upper arm, trying to comfort him, "I'll leave you with your daughter so you can get to know each other. You can take her home in a couple of days. She's a strong girl."

And with that Dr Swan stepped out of the room leaving Antonin and the little baby alone together.

He peered into the cot at the little girl. She had her eyes open slightly and they were deep brown, just like her mother's. He frowned at her as she stretched slightly, making a gurgling noise at her father. She was curious about the man looking down at her, looking so unhappy. She wanted to make him smile. She couldn't understand why he looked so miserable when her heart was full of hope and promise, unaware of the horror that had brought her into the world.

Antonin lowered his head, looking into the glass cot from the side so he could get a proper look at his daughter. She was her mother in miniature, beautiful brown eyes and a tuft of dark brown hair on her large head. She yawned at her father and gurgled again, a little bubble forming at the corner of her mouth as she went back to sleep.

"I'm sorry," He said to the little girl, "I'm sorry that you'll grow up without your mother. But I will do everything I can to make you happy. Not for you, but for her," he added as he straightened up, seeing one of the nurses coming into the room. He left the hospital and returned home, preparing the house for the newborn baby.

X

"Daddy!" The little girl called as she charged at her father across the park.

Antonin had taken Constance to the park for a treat. It was the only place that he could think clearly. At home he was constantly surrounded by reminders of Sylvia. There had been other women but no one who could accept his daughter. They didn't understand just how powerful she was.

At the age of two she had been in the garden when she found a dying plant. She stroked the wilting leaves and the next day it was as good as new. Since then her powers had been growing and growing. She had her mother's talents as well as her looks.

Antonin hid his silver hip flask as his daughter leapt on to his knee. She was tall for three years old and just like her mother she had a petite nose, almond eyes and a bright smile. She was a happy child.

"Daddy, can we go home now?" She asked, stroking the little bit of stubble on his chin.

He smiled at his daughter as he carried her back to the car and drove her back to the house where she charged around in the garden as Antonin poured himself a whiskey.

The stress of the last four years had caused him to drink more and more just to drown out the pain. He loved his daughter very much but there was a part of him that was always thinking that it should have been her that died in that hospital, not Sylvia. He resented that he had been left to raise this child on his own, though there was no denying that he had her best intentions at heart. His mind was filled with contradictions; he loved his daughter but he would rather be holding his wife at night rather than comforting a child that was constantly haunted by nightmares.

Constance was a free spirit, always running around doing her own thing. She had no real friends so she made friends with the plants and the animals. There were squirrels that lived at the end of the garden and she was forever shouting for them to play with her. She had named them Charlie and Bernie.

What remained of Sylvia's garden was now Constance's. She played with the plants as best she could, telling them stories of castles and daring knights slaying dragons, just like they did in her picture books. The plants seemed to love it. Since Constance had learned to walk and been able to go outside they had perked up. It had almost been as though they were in mourning after Sylvia had died, they had wilted and had produced no flowers. Perhaps the little bit of Sylvia that lived on in Constance was what the garden needed to return to its former grandeur.

"Can you read me a story please?" Constance asked as she prodded her father. He was relaxing on the couch, his head leant back against the head rest, his eyes closed. He was still gripping tightly onto his tumbler of whiskey, his mind filled with thoughts of hatred and angst as he heard the irritating voice, his arm being prodded repeatedly.

"Daddy."

He ignored her, trying for once to have some peace and quiet.

"Daddy, it's story time!" She called in his ear as she smacked a leather bound book off the arm of the sofa, "Story! Story, story story!"

Antonin threw the tumbler of whiskey across the room as he stood up. Constance screeched, dropping her book as her father rounded on her, "I don't want to read you a fucking story you irritating brat. Now go to your room and stay there!"

Constance's eyes were filled with tears as she thundered up the creaky staircase, slamming her bedroom door. He could hear her sobbing as he sat back down on the sofa. He wished he could control his temper when he had been drinking. They had had such a lovely day; no arguments, no nastiness between them. It had been a pleasant father-daughter day out.

When her sobs had silenced, Antonin walked carefully up the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door, which had been decorated with stickers of unicorns and mermaids and different pictures of flowers. There was no answer. He knocked again.

"Connie. Can we talk?" He pleaded through the door. There was still no answer.

He opened the door and to his horror the bedroom window was wide open.

"That girl is too clever for her own good." He grumbled as he looked under the toddler bed and in the wardrobe just in case she was still in the house. Of course she wasn't in the house, she was on the way to the library for her story time. She had obviously shimmied down the drain pipe and climbed out into the garden, "Too many of those bloody books giving her ideas."

When she returned home some time later with a book in her hand called _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , Antonin was furious.

"Do you realise what you just put me through?" He snatched the book from her and began to tear pages out of it, "All for these sodding books. You need to grow up, young lady!"

And Constance rushed to her room, the torn up book in her arms as she wept silently into her pillow.

"You put me through too much!" He shouted up the stairs, returning to sit on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand once again. He traced his finger along the rim of the glass as he heard little sniffs from his daughter's bedroom.

X

"Oh shut up." Constance grumbled as she sat across from him at the dinner table.

His fourteen year old daughter had just come home from school for the Christmas holidays and she was already pressing on his last nerve.

"Well you could have been killed! You're all I have left." His voice cracked as he looked at his daughter with her long dark hair rippling down her back and little crooked smirk. She never smiled anymore. Not around him anyway. There had been too much bad blood.

"I bet you would have liked that wouldn't you?" She sneered, flicking her hair out of her face, "Liked it if I had been crushed by that lorry."

Antonin stood up and walked to his daughter, standing over her, "Don't you dare-"

"What? Tell the truth?"

There was a loud slapping noise that echoed around the dining room. Constance cupped her red cheek as Antonin leered at her.

"I wish it had been you," He said through gritted teeth, "You rather than her that had died in that hospital."

"WELL I WISH I HAD DIED!" Constance screamed, flipping her plate of stew all over the dining table. She pushed him out of the way and thundered upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

"I haven't finished with you." He growled dangerously as he marched upstairs, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as he charged into Constance's bedroom.

Constance walked towards him, "Get out."

He shook his head.

"Get out!" She glared at him, pushing his shoulders back, "You don't want me so leave me alone and I won't exist."

"I didn't mean that. I was just angry and I said the wrong thing. But you need to change your attitude. I give you a roof over your head, I give you food to eat, I give you a good education and this is the thanks I get!"

Constance made a scathing noise, "Whatever. I'd survive on my own without you. It's not like you even wanted me here in the first place. Why don't you go and hang out with your new best friend Jack Daniels rather than failing at being a father?"

She threw herself onto her bed, staring up at her ceiling that had been decorated with glow in the dark stars. Antonin lingered in the doorway for a moment and then walked back downstairs, his cheeks scarlet with rage as he poured himself another whiskey. He drained the glass quickly and poured another.

He was hurting. Constance hated him and his words didn't help. It couldn't just be the fact that she was a teenager could it? She had been like this since she was five years old, since he had told her, in a drunken haze, how her mother died. She was blaming herself and his drunken outbursts didn't help cool her temper.

He had heard her on a night lying in bed weeping, muttering to herself that it was her fault, everything was her fault. He had stood outside her bedroom door watching her but unseen, her body rattling with sobs. This was all his doing.

Antonin stared at the tumbler in his hand and then up at the ceiling, imagining that Constance was up there right now, crying into her pillow. She had never known her mother, she had only known stories from her father. The alcohol had fuelled his anger at his daughter but enough was enough. He drained the glass and then walked slowly upstairs to apologise for all the years of ill feeling but when he opened the bedroom door he saw that Constance was packing her suitcase.

"Where are you going?" He asked as he stepped into the room.

Constance glared at him, "Away from you. I know you don't want me here and quite frankly I don't want to be here with you either. So I'm going back to school and I'm going to stay there forever!"

Antonin blocked the doorway as Constance tried to get past him.

"Let me out." She said in a low voice, "Let me out or I swear I'll never come back here again."

To never see his daughter again? Antonin let out a shuddering sigh but remained in place. He needed to show her that he was in charge, "You are staying here with me. You're my daughter and I promised your mother I would look after you."

"Well you have a funny way of holding up your end of the deal." Constance glowered as she stood nearly nose to nose with her father, "Now let me leave. She wouldn't be happy if she knew you were being like this would she?"

He recognised the glint of rage in her dark eyes, one he had been faced with many years ago when he had fought tooth and claw with Sylvia. Both of their tempers were equal in velocity but Sylvia was always the last to say sorry.

"Your mother," Antonin corrected her, "Would be worried sick if she knew that you were wanting to run away."

Constance smirked, "I'm not running away am I? I'm going to a place that _you_ sent me to. Now get out of my face and leave me alone." She forced her way past him and he heard the thudding of the small suitcase as it was thrown precariously down the stairs by the furious fourteen year old.

Antonin looked around the room. She was just like her mother when it came to everything having its rightful place. He caught sight of a small navy covered book on her bedside table.

"But... I thought I..." He looked at the small former library book in his hands then he rushed downstairs just as Constance was opening the front door, "Wait."

She didn't answer him as she tapped her broomstick and commanded it to hover, hooking her suitcase over the bristle-end.

"Constance." He said very quietly. She turned to look at him, perched carefully on her broomstick.

She did not answer him but cocked one eyebrow as if to say "Won't you just leave me alone?"

"Honey, please. I don't want you to go."

She sat there, hovering silently, looking at the book in his hands, "Give me that."

Antonin refused, "Only if you promise you'll stay."

She shook her head, pointing her fingers in a zap as the book disappeared and reappeared in her casting hand, "Sorry, Father," she said softly as she took off into the dark evening sky.

X

He had been alone for three months. She had come home briefly during the Easter holidays but she had stayed in her room and had not come down to see him. There had been no communication, not a single word spoken as she passed through like a gentle breeze, leaving him alone once again.

She had lingered in her room, sobbing to herself but never speaking. When Antonin had gone into change the bedding after she had left he had noticed blood on the sheets, thin streaks of blood almost like the imprint of multiple cuts.

Antonin sat at the dining table, running his fingers over his bald patch. He stared into the golden nectar in his glass as he drank it, feeling it burn his chest as he thought of things he could have said to her but had never passed his lips. Had he ever told her that she was loved? Had he told her she was beautiful? When was the last time he had told her a bed time story?

As he smothered his feelings with another glass of whiskey he thought again about his wife. Never a day went by that he didn't think about her, didn't miss her. He craved to feel her touch again but knew it would never happen until he too was blessed with the gentle embrace of death.

Another drink.

He forgot how long he had actually been sat at the table, surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey. A few minutes? A few hours? Days? His mind was a cloud of fog as he tried to focus but he simply couldn't.

"How did it get to this point?" He thought, casting an eye at the empty bottles. He knew he had a problem but he couldn't bring himself to stop. The more he drank the better he felt, the more numb his feelings became. But Constance had said the he needed to stop, that he was killing himself. Perhaps it was what he wanted, to finally be set free of the burden of life and finally be able to see Sylvia again.

She hadn't sent him any letters since that evening over seven years ago and now she was at college learning how to be a powerful witch just like her mother so she would rarely return home, if at all. She had made a life for herself at Weirdsister; friends and a good teacher who would look after her.

Antonin had been sending letters to Hecketty Broomhead enquiring about Constance's progress, wanting to make sure she was alright. Thankfully she was happy at Weirdsister and was succeeding in her studies. Hecketty had been kind enough to send him updates on his daughter and had conveyed messages back to her, but with no response from Constance herself.

She hadn't even invited him to her graduation that morning; no letter, no phone call. He wanted to see the look on her face as she took her degree from her teachers, the look of hope and promise that had been absent from her face for so long.

He pulled his wallet out from the pocket of his trousers and opened it, looking at a photograph of a tiny baby in a yellow suit with a tuft of dark hair and huge almond eyes.

"My little girl. I'm sorry." He choked, kissing the photograph as a tear rolled down his cheek. He poured himself another drink, coughing as he did so, awaiting the long and dark embrace of an endless sleep that he had wished for for so long.


End file.
